It's Just a Cover
by Mikki13
Summary: Sarah reflects on her relationship with Chuck. Season 1.


**A/N: **This story is based off the prompt "fire," which is the sixth prompt from the LJ "Story Lottery" challenge. Prompts four and five ("the full moon" and "a flash of lightning") can be find in my "Collection of Dates" series. I hope you enjoy the finished result!

**Disclaimer: **Chuck and Sarah belong to me. Oh, wait. That was my delusion talking.

~*~

It's just a cover.

She's lived the con since she was a child. It's more familiar to her than anything she's ever known. The façade, the mask, the lie. All of it is simple, uncomplicated. Commonplace. So when Chuck gives her his trademark grin and plops down on the couch by her side, his arm brushing lightly against her own; when he covers them both with a blanket to shut out the winter chill, taking just a little extra time to tuck in her side; when his hand somehow finds her own on top of the cover, their fingers intertwining while the living room fire crackles warmly just a few feet away, she reminds herself that this is all pretend. It's all a façade, a mask, a lie. It's all just a cover.

"How long do you think before they come up for air?" Chuck asks, nodding toward the other couple. Morgan and Anna have been lip locked for the better part of the evening, the sounds of smacking and low moans interfering with that night's chosen movie, "Empire Strikes Back".

For some reason, the sight causes Sarah to blush and avert her gaze from Chuck's warm brown eyes. "Maybe we should get the hose?" she suggests, her mouth twitching slightly as she focuses instead on the roaring fire casting shadows across the Bartowski family's living room walls. Outside, crashes of thunder and pounding rain can be heard reverberating through the city of Burbank.

"Or a fire extinguisher," Chuck chimes in.

"We could make a bet," Sarah says, instinctively relying on their banter to hide the effect his presence is having on her.

"Nah," Chuck replies, shaking his head. "I don't make nearly enough money." He shifts on the couch, inadvertently rubbing against her shoulder. As if her earlier reaction hadn't been bad enough, her traitorous body actually shivers from the contact. And Chuck instantly notices. "Are you cold?" he asks, his voice underlined with concern.

"A little," Sarah states. It isn't exactly a lie, because at the moment goose bumps are appearing on her arms. But it isn't exactly the truth, either, and she feels a momentary twinge of self-reproach as she realizes that somehow, someway, Chuck Bartowski is slowly piercing her guarded façade and slipping into her sheltered world. Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to reenter spy mode, to refortify her walls. To slip back into her casual façade. To stop feeling the way she feels when Chuck inadvertently brushes against her, when his smile suddenly increases in wattage, when his fingers accidentally rub against her hand.

The effort is made all the more difficult when Chuck leans over her, his warm breath wafting across her cheek, and tightens the blanket around her slender frame. "Thank you," Sarah says, forcing a mask onto her face and a smile onto her lips. She tells herself that her rapid heart rate is a result of the warmth from the fire, and nothing else.

"You're welcome," Chuck replies, gracing her with one of his radiant smiles. He doesn't seem to notice when she leans away from him, crossing her arms so that she's no longer brushing against Chuck's soft skin. She's not exactly sure why, but even in this uncharacteristic Los Angeles chill, he's discarded his sweater and is sitting beside her in nothing more than a thin t-shirt and casual jeans.

The two settle into a comfortable silence (well, more comfortable on Chuck's end, but comfortable just the same), each attempting to watch the movie despite the constant interruptions of smacking lips and clapping thunder. But toward the end, Chuck falls into a deep sleep, his head dropping onto her shoulder. And for a moment, her mask wavers and a look of profound tenderness flickers within her clear blue eyes. As if of its own accord, her hand begins to rise toward the curly brown hair brushing against her jaw, her fingers itching to thread themselves through Chuck's soft mane.

"Wow, great movie," Morgan says, stretching as he climbs out of Anna's lap.

Sarah's hand immediately snaps back to her side, and she turns to look at the other couple, a guilty flush creeping up her cheeks. Morgan's hair is in disarray, his shirt is halfway unbuttoned, and his lips are swollen. And when Sarah redirects her attention to Anna, she finds the other woman looks just as disheveled. "Yeah, great movie," she echoes, pasting her smile back into place even as a dull ache reverberates through her chest. She refuses to acknowledge what it might mean, however, instead holding tight to the mask adorning her face. "So are you two leaving?" In spite of herself, a hopeful tinge colors her words.

"Yeah, we should run," Morgan says, lacing his fingers through the negative spaces of his girlfriend's hand. "Tell the Chuckster we said 'good night.'"

"Sure," Sarah replies, her smile firmly in place. "Good night."

She breathes a small sigh of relief when they're gone, thankful that she no longer has to listen to the smacking and the moans. But when she gets up to leave, gently repositioning Chuck so that he's laying on the couch with the blanket covering his lanky frame, she finds herself moving away from the door and toward a nearby armchair. And without really thinking, she takes a seat, leaning forward so that her hands are resting on her lap.

The gradually dying fire casts shadows over Chuck's sleeping form, the orange and red hues highlighting both his tan skin and the soft curls framing his face. The dull ache sounds within her chest once more as she notices that he's even more innocent asleep than he is awake, his features almost celestial. She rolls her eyes at the angelic comparison, but for some reason, she can't bring herself to leave the confines of the armchair. She can't bring herself to stop looking at the man who is slowly becoming the center of her world.

And as she sits watching Chuck Bartowski sleep, she has to remind herself again that this is just a cover.

~*~

It's just a cover.

A disguise, a façade, a mask to cover the real reason that she and Chuck are becoming so close. It isn't because she's his girlfriend (which she isn't), or because the sight of his brilliant grin makes her heart skip (which may or may not be true). It isn't because she finds herself counting seconds until their next mission, simply because she yearns to be by his side (she doesn't, really). The reason she spends so much time with Chuck Bartowski – the only reason – is because he's her asset and she's his handler. And it's her job to protect him, her job to keep him safe. It's her job to know where he is at all times, even if it means being right there with him.

So when she finds herself walking through Anthony C. Beilenson Park at eleven one Monday night, the balmy night air caressing her skin even as icy tendrils of anxiety snake throughout her veins, she reminds herself that the only reason she's here is because she has a job to do. She has an asset to protect, an assignment to find. The only reason her hands are balled into nervous fists and her breath hitches slightly in her throat isn't because she's really Chuck's girlfriend and she's concerned that something might be wrong; it's because he's disappeared in the middle of the night, his GPS signal leading her to this park, and she's worried about the state of her asset.

She finds him sitting on the edge of the lake, his knees drawn up to his chest as he gazes morosely at the gently rippling water. Ignoring the rush of relief which floods through her chest, she furrows her brow and takes a seat by his side. "You had us worried," she states simply. She's careful to use the word "us," even though she knows that Casey's probably back at his condo, trimming a bonsai plant and completely unconcerned. Wrapping her arms around her slender frame, she stares at the lake, avoiding Chuck's surprised glance.

"I wanted to think," he responds quietly, returning his gaze to the body of water currently glimmering in the moonlight.

"About what?" she asks, trying to keep her tone light. But even as the words emerge from her lips, her mind returns to their latest mission, finished just a few hours before.

They'd been tasked to infiltrate the undertakings of a traitor to the U.S., who had deserted from the military and spent the last two years selling important secrets to the highest bidder. Assigned to stake out his base of operations, Casey and Sarah had ordered Chuck to remain in the van when they'd noticed suspicious activity underfoot. But unbeknownst to either handler, enemy agents had already circled the vehicle. And when one got too close to the van, compromising the safety of their asset, gunfire had broken out and people had been killed. They'd barely escaped with their lives, the mark having fled long before they did.

Chuck's voice cuts through her reverie, jolting her back to the present. "Does this ever get easier?" he asks, and she can hear the dejection in his tone.

Sarah considers for a long moment, a prickle of sympathy resounding through her chest. "Not really," she finally admits. Before she can stop herself, she moves her hand so that it's covering his own. And when tiny sparks of electricity shoot from her hand into her forearm, she tries to ignore them and allows her smile to become reassuring. "But you do get used to it."

"That's just it," Chuck returns sharply. Reaching to his side, he plucks a pebble from the ground and hurls it into the lake, causing tiny rippling circlets to spread out from its point of impact. "What if I don't want to get used to it?"

Sarah blinks at his outburst, surprised at the frustration in his tone. In the short time she's known Chuck Bartowski, he's never spoken to her quite so forcefully. Almost immediately, however, his features soften. "I'm sorry," he says. "This just . . . it isn't exactly what I imagined myself doing with my life, ya know?"

"I know," she agrees, glancing at him sympathetically. "Believe me." For a brief minute, her thoughts flicker back to the day she joined the CIA and everything that followed thereafter. And in the process, she feels a rush of compassion for the man sitting by her side, so new to this world and so vulnerable to its ramifications. Threading her fingers through his own, she forgets their cover for a moment and simply allows herself to comfort a friend.

Chuck looks at her for a long moment, then slowly down at their intertwined hands, his brow creasing as he weighs her words within his mind. "Why did you join the CIA?" he finally asks, returning his gaze to her eyes as he rubs the soft skin of her hand with his rough thumb.

The sensation causes goose bumps to break out onto Sarah's arms, and she quickly pulls her hand back into her lap. If Chuck notices the change, he doesn't say anything. He simply continues to watch her, waiting for her to answer his question. "I liked the idea of being an agent. It seemed to have a lot to offer," she finally says, and doesn't say anything else. She's already said too much, gone too far. She's already compromised their cover too much, simply by being here and letting him in.

So when silence descends upon them, the only sounds the gentle splashing of the lake and the distant chirping of crickets, she takes a moment to regain her footing, to slip back into her familiar façade. And when she notices just how closely she's sitting to Chuck, and when she feels the warmth of his arm brushing against her own, she takes a deep breath and scoots a little further away. But even so, and despite the blank mask that has slipped over her features, the feel of Chuck's hand is still fresh within her mind.

And when she glances at him a moment later, taking in the innocence on his face and the gentle curve of his lips, she has to remind herself that this is just a cover.

"Let's go, Chuck," she says. Before he can answer, she stands and begins walking back to her car.

~*~

It's just a cover.

A deliberate disguise, a creative ruse, a clever con to ensure that the government's most important asset is protected. To give her a reason to remain as close to him as possible, to protect him to the best of her ability, without raising anyone's suspicions. Without letting anyone know that the reason they're so close, the reason they spend so much time together, isn't because she's his girlfriend _(the con)_, but because she's his handler _(the reason)_. No matter what might happen between them or what she may or may not feel, no matter what emotions might be coursing through her chest as she sits beside him at his dinner table surrounded by his family and his friends, no matter how much she might ache to reach over and grab his hand, this is all just a cover. A deception. A ploy made up and delivered to keep the government's biggest secret safe.

Chuck Bartowski is nothing more than her asset.

"Time for presents," Ellie says cheerfully, breaking into her thoughts as she places the last plate of cake onto the table. The other woman had invited everyone over for Chuck's twenty-eighth birthday, much to her brother's chagrin. Because even though he would never admit it to Ellie, Sarah knows that he would much rather have let the occasion slide. Chuck has never been very good with public displays of attention, and a birthday celebration was about as attentive as Ellie could get. But Sarah also knows how much Chuck cares about his sister, and how much he appreciates everything she's done for him. So she's really not surprised when he nods in acquiescence after popping a bite of cake into his mouth.

"Okay," he says, reaching toward the pile of gifts lying haphazardly on a nearby chair. His hand lands first on an envelope, which Morgan had plopped onto the pile only a few minutes earlier. Slipping his finger underneath the flap, he tears open the envelope and pulls out a card. And when he opens that card, a piece of paper immediately falls from its confines. "IOU?" Chuck reads the note, a touch of humor clouding his voice.

"Sorry, Chuck," Morgan says, shrugging. "I spent the last of my paycheck at the arcade."

Taking a place at the table, Ellie rolls her eyes and gestures toward Sarah's gift. "Open that one next," she suggests.

When Chuck's eyes fall on the package, a nervous smile flits across Sarah's lips as she shifts a little restlessly in her chair. "It's okay," she says, biting the inside of her cheek in annoyance when the nervousness colors her words. "Really, you can open Ellie's next."

But Chuck's already plucked her present off the table and begun ripping into the paper before the words have fully left her lips. And when the wrap is finally removed, when it's lying on the table in a crumpled ball, Chuck slowly turns the gift and stares in wide-eyed awe at the sight that greets him. Nestled in a frame, the colors almost as brilliant as the day it was first printed, is a poster. And scrawled across that poster are two words that cause the computer nerd to blink and turn to her with his wide-eyed stare.

"I knew you liked the movie," Sarah says, shrugging even as she forces her features to remain detached. "And only a few hundred of those were made."

"It's one of the original TRON posters," Chuck replies, his gaze softening as he locks onto Sarah's bright blue eyes. "And it's got Jeff Bridges' autograph." (Across the table, Devon lets out a low whistle as Morgan cranes his head to look at the poster.)

"Yeah, well," Sarah replies nonchalantly, inwardly cursing herself when a blush creeps up her cheeks, "I found it on e-Bay."

"Thank you," Chuck says simply, yet she hears the clear emotion crackling within his tone. A rush of electricity zips across her skin when he leans over and gives her a quick hug, resting the poster on the table.

"Bro," Devon says, pointing his cake-laden fork at Chuck as he returns to his seat. "You've gotta do better than that."

"Devon, I don't think it's any of our business," Ellie replies, tearing her eyes away from the poster to shoot the other couple an apologetic look.

"But, babe," Devon responds, stuffing his mouth with cake, "Someone's gotta teach him how it's done." He turns to the red-faced Chuck, swallowing his cake with a loud gulp. "Really, dude. She just got you a TRON poster complete with Bridges' autograph. You should at least give her a kiss."

Sarah clears her throat, unable to suppress a nervous giggle. "Oh, that's okay, Devon," she says lightly, trying to preserve their cover. "Chuck can kiss me later."

But: "Come on, man," Devon pushes. "Don't tell me I have to lock you two in your room together."

By this time, Chuck's face has turned bright red, but Sarah's shoulders suddenly tighten with resolve. Clearly, Devon isn't going to give up. And for every moment he has to wheedle Chuck into kissing her, their cover becomes that much shakier. And that's something Sarah the CIA agent just can't allow. And Sarah the woman, straining to escape the hold the CIA agent has upon her, is almost thankful for Devon's pushiness.

This thought in mind, Sarah rises from her chair. "Come on, sweetie," she says, her voice lilting a little on the last word. Smiling encouragingly at Chuck as he turns to her with wide eyes, she grabs him by the arm and pulls him to his feet. "I know you hate PDAs, but it's just one kiss."

Chuck's brow furrows as he takes in his cover girlfriend, clearly trying to discern how she's feeling about this sudden change of plans. But when she only continues to smile with encouragement, the lines gradually disappear from his forehead. "Sure, sweetie," he replies, his tone a little too high pitched as he struggles not to appear as though he's reading from a poorly written script. "What's one kiss when we've kissed . . . uh, at least a hundred times before."

Despite his words, she can still see the hesitation in his eyes, clear within their depths. But as he leans slowly toward her, his lips parting slightly, she sees another emotion flickering behind the doubt. An emotion which begins as nothing more than a shimmery whisper, but which quickly overpowers the hesitation as he comes ever closer to her lips. Even though the sight causes her to feel a twinge of guilt _(this isn't real)_, it also causes her pulse to race and her breath to hitch. And when his mouth finally press uncertainly against her own, she can't help the almost inaudible whimper that escapes her lips anymore than she can help the way her fingers curl through his messy brown curls.

_It's just a cover._

The words echo within her mind, seemingly detached from any sense of reality. Because as Chuck's mouth molds to her own and his hands explore her lower back, as the kiss becomes less uncertain and their lips begin a passionate duel, as she runs her tongue along his lower lip and presses herself against his trembling body, she knows that reality has no place in those words. The only thing real in this moment are the feelings coursing deep within her.

The kiss is finally broken when Devon chuckles appreciatively and claps Chuck hard on the back, causing his fiancée's brother to stumble into Sarah. "Way to go, Chuckster," he says, admiration clear within his tone. "I knew you had it in you."

But what Chuck has in him, neither Chuck nor Sarah think to ask. At the moment, they're too busy staring into one another's eyes, a thousand thoughts passing silently between them. And while Sarah knows Chuck's not quite sure what just happened, and even though she's pretty sure he doesn't realize just how much the kiss affected her, she's almost certain that he's feeling the effects just as much as she is. As he stares at her with flushed face, her lips tingle from his touch, tiny prickles of electricity course up her spine, and her hands ache to bury themselves within his hair once more.

_This is dangerous_, she thinks as she studies the way he folds his lips within his mouth, almost as if testing to ensure they're still real. Licking her own lips, she wills a calm mask to slip onto her features, to disguise the way she's currently feeling. Because if Chuck knew what she was feeling, there would be no turning back. If Chuck knew what she was feeling, there would be no way of keeping him from discovering what she now realizes is the truth.

No matter how many times she tells herself this is just a cover, no matter how hard she tries not to believe the illusion, all of that is irrelevant. The only thing that holds any relevance is the man standing before her, the emotion radiating within the brown depths of his eyes. The emotion which mirrors that reflected within her own blue gaze, buried underneath her carefully constructed mask.

And in that moment, she realizes that this isn't just a cover anymore.


End file.
